


my privilege, my honour

by quillquiver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuddling, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Wedding Night, Weddings, because fuck that ending, copious amounts of schmoop, like a little bit, wedding vows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29460009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: A collection of short fic and drabbles from the DeanCas wedding and honeymoon. I'll add to it as I get inspired!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 59
Kudos: 341





	1. first comes love

**Author's Note:**

> Happy destiel wedding and valentine's day, everyone! This was cross-posted to tumblr :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, they were engaged.

He’d said, _M_ _arry me_ , over bitter coffee and burnt toast, cheek resting on his palm as Cas methodically slathered the two black slices in his plate with honey. He’d seemed surprised by it, too, like sleep had dampened the ever-present iron grip on his own heart.

Cas had barely paused before nodding—like Dean’s heart wasn’t pounding double-time. Like this wasn’t a _huge friggin’ deal_. He’d reached for Dean’s mug and had taken a long, loud slurp.

And just like that, they were engaged.

***

It isn’t like they meant to keep it—the proposal, engagement, _whatever_ —under wraps. It just sorta… happened that way. ’Sides, it ain’t like they’ve actually talked about what getting married even means; Cas technically doesn’t exist, and Dean is somehow both wanted and legally dead—that shit isn’t really conducive to any kind of legal arrangement. As for the spiritual stuff, well—Dean’s pretty sure he and Cas have had enough god-talk to last two lifetimes.

And who the hell needs the Man when you live on magic credit cards, anyway?

Three weeks after that morning in the kitchen, Dean nuts up and leaves a ring on Cas’s nightstand. At breakfast the next morning, before Sammy is back from his run, Cas gingerly places his own right next to Dean’s elbow. He gives Dean a long, meaningful look, and then turns back to his Froot Loops.

Dean hooks his foot around Cas’s ankle. Cas smiles around his spoon.

_Awesome._

***

They don’t feel married until they’re in some run-down motel in Boise. Covered in grave dirt and ghoul guts, Dean sits on the closed lid of the toilet as Cas sews neat stitches across his bicep. He’s got a little furrow in his brow and he’s squinting at Dean’s mess of an arm like it holds the secrets to the universe, bloody bottom lip pulled between his teeth. The orange light over the mirror makes a halo in his hair, and Dean is very suddenly aware of how much he loves this asshole, putting neat little lines of floss into his skin; this man who is not a man, who has seen the beginning and stopped the end, fragile now and kneeling for him on grimy tile.

“I think that should do it.”

Dean’s reaching for him before he realizes what he’s doing, his poorly washed fingers curling around the chain that’s fallen out of his shirt and the ring threaded through it. Cas looks up, startled; his eyes are big and blue against the dirt stubbornly clinging to the right side of his face.

Dean pulls.

Cas follows as he always does, though after going beyond the ends of the earth Dean figures the scant space between them is child’s play. He brings Cas in until he’s close enough to kiss and then keeps going, until their mouths press and Dean can hold the ring in his fist. Cas clings to the thin material of his t-shirt. Leans forward, hands out and chin tilting up as if in supplication, as if kneeling in this filthy motel bathroom is comparable to receiving Revelation.

Dean _needs_.

He reaches down with his free hand, giving a sharp inhale when his stitches pull.

“Dean—”

Dean shakes his head and kisses him again, pulling vainly at Cas’s shirt. Between the two of them, they manage to wrestle it off, working on Dean’s until it too falls crumples against the tile. It’s weird, Dean thinks faintly, how much he wants to live in this other person. He helps Cas off his knees and to his feet, until they’re pressed up against the counter kissingkissing _kissing_ and then—

Dean pulls away.

His palms skate up to Cas’s ribs until they brush the ring. Cas’s breath hitches. He’s staring; sweet and steady, waiting for Dean’s next move. Always waiting. For the hundredth time, Dean wonders what he did to earn that kind of trust. Carefully, he pulls the chain over Cas’s head and removes the ring. Trails his fingertips along the insides of Cas’s forearms until he’s at his hands. Lifts his left.

He presses a kiss to his bare ring finger. Slides the ring on. Kisses him there again.

Cas stares.

They’re holding hands until they’re not; Cas carefully relieves Dean of his own chain and slips the ring on his finger. He doesn’t look away. Dean doesn’t breathe.

Their kiss is a sweet, tentative thing.

It’s more about the way their hands move and tangle and squeeze, their mouths matching the lazy, exploratory pace of their fingers; these hands that bare the marks of violent toil, now made soft in the light of a motel bathroom. When they drift apart, Dean buries his face in Cas’s neck, breathing him in under the muck and the dirt. Cas’s hand drifts up to rest in his hair. _I love you_ , Dean thinks fiercely. _I love you I love you I_ —

There’s something big knocking around in his chest, something about hearts and homes and people, and it’s all Dean can do to wrap an arm around Cas’s waist and _squeeze_. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I was so fucking stupid for such a long time—”

“Dean—”

“I was,” Dean says. He drags his fingers up and down Cas’s spine. Settles his hands on his hips. Takes a deep breath for this man who kneels for him, heals him, follows him. Loves him. “Cas, you deserve… man, you deserve so much more than that guy. You really—if I’m bein’ honest, you deserve more than me trying could ever give you, but you chose me, and I’ll spend every damn minute from now until the heat death of the friggin’ universe trying to be deserving of that choice.”

“Dean,” Cas says. His fingers are gentle at the base of Dean’s skull.

“I’m happy you chose me,” Dean breathes. “I love that you chose me.”

“It was my privilege to choose you,” Cas says. He sounds confused.

Dean forces himself to pull back and Cas’s hand is immediately at his cheek and jaw, the ring cool and smooth and wonderful. He can’t stop himself from leaning into the touch. “But you know, right? That—that you never have to find another home if you don’t want to. And that the thing you wanted, you can have it and then some but it’s _yours_ , Cas, you gotta know all of it’s yours—your privilege, your honour but _mine, too_. So I’m gonna work hard, because—because I’ve never found a home inside a person like the one I found in you and that is a goddamn gift. I _love_ _you_ , Cas, I—” He abruptly loses steam, here. “…I love you.”

Cas kisses him. “Me, too,” he mumbles, a smile starting in the corner of his mouth as one kiss becomes two then three then four. “My privilege, my honour: the greatest of my life and until the heat death of the universe—I love you, Dean. _Me, too_.”

And then kissing becomes moot.

They’re grinning too widely to do anything but touch and breathe against each other, hands skating and skimming and trailing—pants, boxers, socks and shoes in a heap on the floor—stumbling against the counter, grabbing onto the shower curtain— _ah shit, careful_ —until they’re pressed up against the door. Dean’s got a leg hitched around Cas’s waist and they’re grinding sweet and slow, sharing sporadic kisses until something slick on one of their torsos slides down.

They freeze.

“Uh… shower?” Dean says, trying not to look too closely at whatever the fuck is making his groin slippery.

“That would probably be best.”

***

“Hey, so uh, what’s with the…” Sam looks pointedly at Dean’s left hand.

Dean shrugs. Coughs. Scrubs at the back of his hair.

“Really?” Sam says. “ _Wow_.”

***

They hold a ceremony at the bunker a week later.


	2. the morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mornin’, sunshine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [tumblr](https://thursdayschild.co.vu/post/643210986613047296/based-off-of-this-by-coolmomdean-mornin) :)

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Cas wakes to the image of Dean shirtless and half-hanging into the footwell. He presses a kiss to Cas’s mouth and pushes a hand through his hair. It’s cold, maybe; hard to tell with the way they’re pressed together, but sun is streaming in through the trees and the cracked windows bring the smell of salt and seaweed and the odd cry of a gull. 

“Coffee,” Cas mumbles, even as he chases for another kiss.

Dean snorts but obliges, mumbling about finding a spot in town. Cas nods and shoves a hand down the back of his boxers. Hums. Squeezes. The ring sits heavy on his finger and he can’t stop himself from grinning. 

“What?” Dean says, his own mouth tugging up into a smile.

Cas shakes his head and kisses him again. 

“Seriously, dude,” Dean says. He’s beaming, now. “What?”

“I love you.”

“Really?” Dean teases, a flush exploding across his cheeks and chest and the tips of his ears. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You ol’ romantic.”

They shift until Cas is sitting, swapping wet, lazy kisses as Dean straddles his lap. The grinding is nice, too, he thinks as Dean leads them in a languorous rhythm. He tangles their fingers and thumbs at Cas’s ring and they slow until all they’re doing is holding each other. It’s completely indulgent. Totally sybaritic. Hedonism at its finest.

“I don’t really wanna come,” Dean mumbles into the crook of Cas’s neck. “Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas replies, running fingers through Dean’s hair. “I don’t really feel like it, either.”

“Yeah. ’Sides, this is nice.”

“Mm.”

“...You wanna go swimming?”

They stumble out of the car and towards the sandy path to the water, playfully shoving at each other until the beach stretches out before them. It’s empty but for a handful of runners and walkers, and Dean digs his toes into the sand and takes a deep breath. “Y’know, I’ve never done this before,” he says, staring at the water. “The whole beach vacation thing. Me n’ Sammy snuck out a coupla times but...”

Cas looks at him, freckles already gathering on his shoulders and the bridge of his nose, ring on his finger, bowed legs and Scooby-Doo boxer-briefs. He reaches out a hand. Wriggles his fingers.

“We'll make it up as we go?”

Dean grins.


	3. a place to stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean frowns. “That’s great, kid, but we need a single.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [tumblr](https://thursdayschild.co.vu/post/643218534288228352/they-arrive-at-the-front-desk-with-duffles-in) :)

They arrive at the front desk with duffles in hand, dressed in worn jeans and flannel and rumpled from spending the night parked by the beach. “Double’s seventy-two a night,” the teenaged clerk says, barely looking up from his phone. 

Dean frowns. “That’s great, kid, but we need a single.”

The kid—Jason, his name tag says—almost breaks his neck with how fast he looks up, staring at the two of them. Dean not-so-subtly wraps an arm around Cas’s waist. Cas rolls his eyes. 

“A single,” Dean repeats. “For me and my hubby.” Jason keeps staring. “What, you ain’t never seen a pair of husbands before? This is California!”

Cas’s brow furrows. “Are you... okay?”

“Uh.” Jason shakes himself. “Sorry. You guys just... you look a lot like those dudes from the _Supernatural_ books. The angel and the older brother. You ever read those?” He’s holding out a hand, presumably for a credit card. Cas has this funny, weird little smile on his face and Dean is pretty sure he looks like he’s... y’know, that little pinwheel of death. The buffering. “Uh, sir?” the kid asks. “I need a card.”

“...Nope,” Dean says, suddenly and emphatically. He turns on his heel and walks out of the lobby in two long strides, muttering to himself. Cas watches him leave with a raised brow. “Apologies,” he adds, and nods at the clerk before following. “We had the... wrong address.”

Cas is looking up directions to another dive when Dean puts a hand on his wrist. “Why the hell are we looking at shitty motels?” he asks, holding up Charlie’s magic card. “I wanna stay someplace I can take my shoes off. You think if we tell ‘em we’re married they’ll give us free champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries?”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’ve never stayed anywhere nice before.”

Dean stares.

Cas stares back.

“Fuck it, I want the most expensive joint in a 25-mile radius. I want pamphlets advertising couples massages that cost more than a month’s worth of gas, and then I wanna _get one_. Try to follow us all the way to fuckin’ Ritz, motherfucker. Fuck those goddamn books.”

***

**r/SpnSpotted**

**jasonintheimpala:** im not a truther but i think dean and castiel showed up at my work??


	4. the ritz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They end up staying at the Ritz

It’s kismet that _The Princess Bride_ is on.

They’re cuddled in the California King, the covers rumpled and half-fallen to the spotless floor as Cas picks through the small bowl of fruit in his lap. His soft robe is open, eyes trained on the TV and mouthing along to Westley’s _as you wish_. He’s still a little flushed from the shower—shared earlier, with water pressure to die for—and freshly shaven. His damp hair curls against his forehead.

“Hey, Casanova.”

Cas turns to him with a sticky finger caught between his lips. Dean promptly loses his own train of thought.

“What?” Cas grins.

“Uh… nothing,” Dean says. “You’re gonna spoil your dinner.”

Cas squints and tilts his head a bit, and Dean’s friggin’ blush must give him away because that grin turns into a smirk. “I don’t think I can get an erection so soon after the bath, but I’m more than willing to try.”

Dean’s flush climbs to his ears. “Just watch the goddamn movie, asshole.”

“As you wish.”

He laughs when Dean tackles him into the pillows.

The people are reception had taken Charlie’s magic card and charged the most expensive room in the joint for a whole week. They’d even sincerely congratulated them on getting hitched when Cas had mentioned it. Dean had been… quiet; something about all the wealth made him nervous.

But it turns out when you spend an insane amount of dough, people give you whatever you want with a big smile on their faces. They’d been given two vouchers for the restaurant as an apology for having to wait fifteen minutes for their room to be ready, and when they’d arrived there had been a cheese plate, bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries, bottle of expensive champagne and a handwritten card waiting for them. Cas had let his duffle drop to the shiny tile and had _beamed._

The shower was more than big enough for two and had water pressure to die for. They had a totally unobstructed view of the ocean, and despite the _Do Not Disturb_ sign, every night, some guy came to give them two chocolates and refill the fancy free shit in the minibar.

Otherwise, they only answered the door for room service.

It’s a little much, sometimes—Dean doesn’t need a twink to bring him towels, thank you very much—but it’s nice. It’s nice to have hear the ocean through the open windows and eat breakfast on the balcony and walk on the beach and fuck at all hours of the day and night. Hell, his barring the beach, his wardrobe has pretty much consisted of a clean and dirty hotel-provided robe. Dean took a _nap_ today.

He’s never been on vacation before.

By the time Westley and Buttercup have reached the Fire Swamp, Dean and Cas have drifted from making out to aimless touching and holding. It’s skin on skin, and it’s friggin’ glorious. Dean runs a hand through Cas’s hair and Cas leans into it like a cat. “Love you,” Dean breathes, because it’s still hard to say. Cas catches his mouth in a lazy kiss.

“I love you,” he echoes.

***

“Dean? We should probably get going if we want to make our reservation.”

“Dude, we’re not leaving in the middle of the Miracle Max scene.”

***

“Hi, uh. We’re a little late—ah. Winchester? The reservation’s under. Um. Winchester.”

Dean smoothes down his flannel and bites his lip. Fuck. They lost the reservation. There’s no record of them. They're not wearing the right clothes and the card was flagged and they know and they’re gonna—

“Oh yes, the honeymooners! Right this way, please.”

Dean only moves when Cas’s palm presses to his lower back. “Breathe,” he murmurs.

Dean moves to hold his hand.

***

“…Yeah that dessert thing was delicious.”

“Mm.” Cas throws himself onto the couch, crooking his finger in an imitation of bad porn. Dean flops of top of him with a smirk. “Dean!”

“What?”

Cas traces over the bridge of a freckled nose and the ridge of his cheekbones. He grins and leans in for a kiss. Dean enthusiastically accommodates him. “So, um… that tasting menu really only lets you taste, huh? You still hungry?”

As if on cue, Cas’s stomach growls.

Dean grins. “Let’s get Dominoes.”

“No green peppers.”

“Duh.”

He’s got his phone pressed to his ear as Cas grabs the ice bucket and nods at the door. “I think we have some beer left in the car.”

“How are you actually the fucking best?” It’s a knee-jerk reaction, one that makes a blush ride high in his cheeks. Moron. “Uh.”

Cas gives his cheek a smiley kiss. Like it’s no big deal. Like this whole thing isn’t a huge, terrifying, fucking wonderful trust exercise. Like it isn’t a leap of faith out of a goddamn plane. "I'll be back. No green pepper!"

“ _Hello? Is anyone there? Hello…?_ ”

They polish off two extra-large pies and a couple of beers on the balcony before going down to the beach with the last two bottles.

“Dean?” Cas murmurs into the crook of his neck, shifting to press his chest more firmly to Dean’s back. He wriggles his toes into the cool sand.

“Yeah?”

“I’m having a great time.”

And that shit shouldn’t make him blush, but Dean feels his cheeks heat, anyway. He clears his throat and presses a kiss to Cas’s knuckles, twining their fingers. “Me too, Cas.”

He can feel Cas grinning into his neck.


	5. balcony breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is not a morning person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [we-all-deserve-to-be-saved](https://we-all-deserve-to-be-saved.tumblr.com/) for the prompt!

Castiel is not a morning person.

He likes lying in bed until he’s sore with it, stretching out on the memory foam like a king languishing among his pillows. He likes rolling over onto on a cool patch of sheet, and cuddling into the covers, and hooking his toes over the end of the mattress. Castiel likes holding Dean. Being held by him; tucked up against his chest or with a palm half-sunk into his boxer-briefs. Pressing kisses to neck and shoulders and the line of his hair.

Castiel likes the liminal space he occupies in the moments between sleep and wakefulness, where everything glows. It’s warm and wonderful and he draws it out for as long as possible, the minutes dragging along by way of tender touches. It reminds him of the peaceful parts of angelhood.

So, Castiel is not a morning person.

…But he can become one, for Dean.

Dean likes romantic gestures; not all of them—he isn’t the type of man who likes receiving flowers or chocolates or candlelit dinners. But picking up his favourite beer when Cas notices they’re running low, or staying up late to watch a movie despite being exhausted—kissing him, washing his hair, holding his hand, sitting with him while he works on the Impala… wearing women’s lingerie: these are all things Dean appreciates. Small things. Quiet things.

Cas knows that this is a gamble.

The alarm on his phone barely has the opportunity to buzz before he’s turning it off, carefully sliding out from between the covers. It’s dim, and Cas allows himself a moment to run his hand through the mess of his hair and dig his toes into the soft carpet. A breeze is coming off the water.

God, he hates early mornings.

“Where you goin’?”

Dean’s voice is slurred and muffled. He blindly reaches out and Cas meets him halfway, tempted into cuddling for just a moment longer. “Go back to sleep, Dean,” he murmurs, gently brushing over the pillow lines on his cheek.

“Mmm, w’sss hap’nin?”

“Bathroom,” Cas supplies, depositing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Dean’s reciprocation lags with exhaustion.

Dean frowns. Struggles to open his eyes. “Y’okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cas says. “Go back to sleep.”

“’Kay,” Dean mumbles. “C’m back.”

Cas melts like ice cream on hot concrete.

He carefully extracts himself from their bed, padding into the other room and closing the bedroom door. The sun is beginning to paint the first impressions of light on the horizon; the water is calm—it’s going to be a beautiful day.

Castiel calls for room service.

He orders pancakes and waffles and eggs and sausages, lox bagels, a bowl of fresh fruit, mimosas. An espresso and a latte because Dean would never ask for it himself. “And would you mind putting a rush on this?” he murmurs into the receiver. “I know it’s early, but we’re newlyweds and I’m trying to surprise my husband.”

Cas has learned that the newlywed excuse goes a long way anywhere, but works especially well when paying outrageous amounts of money in a fancy hotel. He expects they’ll also leave the champagne bottle.

Despite the fact that Cas is pretty sure it’s considered impolite to do so, he moves the small table and chairs from the balcony and makes a nest on the marble floor out of spare blankets and colourful pillows from the couch. He tries to mitigate the potential mess by laying down some of their many extra towels. Room service knocks, Cas pulls on a robe, and then the smell of coffee and food starts rousing Dean from bed. Cas pushes the food cart—complete with opened champagne bottle—to the door of the balcony before entering the bedroom.

Dean has kicked off all the covers and is sleeping on his stomach.

There is no moment of thinking about what he wants to do—what he’s allowed; Cas moves without conscious thought, peppering kisses from Dean’s ass all the way to the nape of his neck and then lavishing his attention on his particularly freckled shoulders. “Mmm… smells good.”

“Breakfast,” Cas says.

“S’early.”

“I want to take you on a date.”

Dean’s eyes flutter open. “Now?” he asks, caught between sleep and incredulity.

Cas leans over and presses a kiss to his mouth. “Mm.”

“Sweetheart…” He whines. Cas feels himself start to smile. Dean doesn’t use pet names often, and more recently he’s taken to doing so while complaining; as if the verbal confirmation of his affection will bend Cas to his will. It was laughable until it became endearing—because Cas _is_ sweet on him, and there is no one else Dean feels comfortable whining to.

“Your life is one hardship after another,” he agrees solemnly. Cas slides back down Dean’s body and nips his left asscheck. “Come on. Up.”

“What, we’re not even gonna—”

“After breakfast, Dean. Just come. Please.”

Dean rolls his eyes and grumbles about a different kind of coming. “Man, s’not even light out yet.” As Cas moves to get Dean his robe, he’s caught around the waist and pulled between bowed legs. “C’mon,” Dean needles, nuzzling at him until the robe parts. “A little nookie, a couple more hours of sleep… we can go on a date later.”

“Or we can go on a date now.”

Dean pulls away and looks up at Cas, narrowing his eyes. Cas smiles down at him beatifically, running a hand through his hair and tracing the shell of his in the way he knows turns him to putty.

“…You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yes.”

Dean continues to grumble to himself as he slides out of bed and towards his duffle, frowning when Cas catches his hand. “No need to get dressed.”

“But you said—”

Cas holds out his robe. “Follow me.”

Dean slips the thing on as they pad into the main room, his eyes immediately drawn to the food and coffee. He gives a low whistle. “Damn, Cas. We expecting company?”

And suddenly, the entire thing seems incredibly stupid. Cas dragged them both from the warmth and comfort of their marriage bed on their _honeymoon_ to look at the sun rising, a thing that happens and has happened every single day since the Earth started turning. He did this knowing that neither of them get to sleep like this, or be alone like this, or touch like this—this much and this openly. He doesn’t even know if Dean _likes_ sunrises; if this is one of those things that’s romantic in the wrong way.

“I know you like breakfast,” he says, instead of dragging Dean back to bed.

Dean eyes the set-up outside, turn around and… blushes. Is blushing, down his chest and all the way to the tips of his ears. “So this is, uh—you got up and did all this?”

Cas feels colour rise to his own cheeks. “I didn’t cook,” he says. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Dean echoes. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “So, uh, take me on a date, stud.” He looks nervous, Cas thinks, which is ridiculous and relatable all at once. Outside, the rising sun paints swathes of pink and orange across the horizon.

“…Right,” Cas says. “Yes. I will… do that.” He gestures to the balcony. “Please sit.”

They get settled with coffee, for the first time maintaining a respectful distance between them. It’s oddly hurtful, and the longer they remain apart the more awkward Cas feels. He’s practically shaking out of his own skin when he suggests they go back inside. “You’re tired,” he says. “We should just go back to sleep.”

“Wait, why?” Dean frowns. He has foam on his upper lip. Cas wants to kiss it away.

“You’re not having fun,” he continues. “And this was silly, anyway. We should just—”

“Who says I’m not having fun?”

“Dean—”

“C’mon, man, you gotta—” Dean cuts himself off. Shakes his head. “I’m not cut out for this stuff: dates, romance… you gotta know that by now. And I haven’t been with anyone long enough to, y’know, even get to the part where we’re mushy and shit. But… it’s not because I don’t want to. I mean, flowers and chocolate? Not my thing, but you _know me_ , Cas. A-And we’re in love, right?”

Cas swallows thickly. He nods. “I’m in love with you.”

Dean’s huff of laughter is steeped in nerves. “Well, good,” he says. “’Cause I’m kinda crazy about you, too. So—so, why shouldn’t we have a sunrise picnic on the balcony at the fuckin’ Ritz?”

“We should, if you’re enjoying myself.”

“Hell yeah, I’m enjoying myself. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Drink your damn coffee.”

Cas stares at him for a moment before scooting closer. He wraps an arm around Dean and tugs, relaxing when over six feet of freckled hunter is suddenly plastered to his side. “Okay,” Cas breathes. “Good. This is good. I love you.”

“I love you, too, you loser.”

They come together more softly than usual, tentative in a way they haven’t been in a long time as they kiss. Eventually, Dean gets pulled onto Cas’s lap and shrugs out of the top of half of his robe. “Gonna need to work up an appetite to finish all that food,” he murmurs. He ducks down to suck and bite at the spot on Cas’s neck that makes him weak in the knees.

Cas snorts. “Very subtle.”

“So, uh…” Dean bounces his eyebrows like a lecherous old man.

Cas’s stomach growls. “Can we postpone the exhibitionism until after we eat?”

“There’s no one around!”

He’s smiley when Cas kisses him.

“What would you like for breakfast?” Dean opens his mouth and Cas rolls his eyes. “ _Besides_ me.”

“That’s mighty presumptuous of you, Castiel.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “I know you.”

“Yeah.”

It comes out much breathier than probably intended, and Cas can’t be expected not to kiss him. When they drift apart and Dean says, “Little bit of everything?” Cas gets up to make him a plate.

“Man,” Dean sighs, stretching out on the pillows. “This honeymoon thing is awesome.”

Cas hands him a plate piled high with bacon and eggs and pancakes and grins.

It really, truly is.


End file.
